


Got All Night

by shihadchick



Series: Kiss the Sky [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick doesn't exactly have plans for his birthday, not this year, he's just going to have a quiet night at home. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sociofemme for the beta. <3 
> 
> This is just a quick snippet from this universe, post Saad's trade to Columbus, set March 2016.

Nick doesn’t actually suspect anything when Boych asks about his evening plans when they’re changing after practice; he just shrugs and says, “Nah, just staying in tonight.”  
  
He’d thought that maybe Johnny was leading up to a dinner invite, it wouldn’t be the first time and he’s not exactly going to turn down a home-cooked meal that he doesn’t have to prepare himself. Sheena’s nice, and the kids are ridiculously cute, he’s spent more than enough time over at the Boychuks' place to be pretty confident of his welcome. And it’s not like he has anything else planned; he and a bunch of the guys are going out for dinner and drinks next Sunday, combination celebration of his birthday and the fact it’s the last time they’ll get more than a day between games for the rest of the regular season. Not that Nick plans on needing time to recover from a hangover, but sometimes it’s better safe than sorry.  
  
Johnny’s only response to Nick’s explanation is to say, “Oh, cool,” and then the conversation turns to what they think’s gonna happen on the Walking Dead later, so Nick just shrugs and moves on with his day.  
  
He calls his mom and dad around dinner time—theirs, not his—hoping to catch Tyler at home as well, maybe. They all say happy birthday again, he had gotten their messages in the morning too, but thankfully no one decides to sing, so he figures he’s doing pretty well as these things go.  
  
They’re just starting to wrap up that conversation when there’s a knock at his door, and that’s just weird, because most people have to buzz to get in the front door. Maybe someone needs to borrow some flour or something. They’ll be shit out of luck, because Nick hasn’t baked possibly ever, but the neighborly thing to do is to at least go answer the door.  
  
“Hey, I gotta go,” Nick says. “There’s someone at the door.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” his mom says. “You should get that. Night, Nick,” and she’s hung up before he can even say goodbye himself.  
  
That’s weird, and he’s still frowning over it when he goes to open the door, an expression that gets wiped out entirely as he pulls it open to see Brandon standing right there, scarf loose around his neck and his coat unbuttoned.  
  
Nick can put two and two together, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only person this is a surprise to.  
  
“Out of interest,” he says, “Did you call my parents to check if I’d be home or Boych?”  
  
Brandon shrugs at him. “Both. I wanted to make sure this didn’t blow up in my face.”  
  
“I didn’t even know you had Boych’s number,” Nick says, a little hung up on the mechanics. Maybe he should’ve seen this coming.  
  
“Got it from Soupy,” Brandon says, and that makes sense, sure.  
  
Nick’s still off balance, leaning on the door and staring at Brandon like he hasn’t seen him in a month—which he hasn’t, not really—because he hadn’t expected this at all, hadn’t seen it coming, and maybe he should have, under the circumstances. He has to laugh at himself a little at that, well aware of the irony.  
  
“I thought this was my move?”  
  
He says with a grin, knows he looks a little sheepish. God, it’s so good to see him.  
  
Brandon gives him a grin that’s only about fifty percent his usual wattage, looking tired and a little worn around the edges. “I figured it was my turn. Can’t let you get all the glory.”  
  
He makes a self-deprecating face at that, and once again Nick’s acutely conscious of what they haven’t talked about yet, about how Nick’s probably going to be busy in the post-season and how Brandon… isn’t. Nick’s pretty sure he’s going to be asking Brandon to spend some time in New York, but they’re not there yet, and he doesn’t want to bring it up until they are, whether that’s superstition or something else making him reticent.  
  
“Anyway, come in already, hi,” Nick says belatedly, finally remembering his manners as he steps back and lets Brandon follow him inside.  
  
It’s not the first time he’s been to Nick’s place, but it’s the first time that Nick didn’t know ahead of time, and he’s grateful once again that he keeps things relatively clean, doesn’t have to worry about what he’s walking into. He can’t help noticing Brandon swing a black backpack off his shoulder, dumping it by the couch in the living room, and he’s trying not to get his hopes up, but—well, what else is that even going to mean?  
  
“So, how long do I have you?” Nick asks, coming to a halt very close to Brandon, enough that he can see the way Brandon’s gaze tracks over his mouth and back up to meet his eyes, can see the way he’s breathing a little faster than usual.  
  
They haven’t even hugged yet, and Nick’s a little afraid that he’ll vanish once he does try to touch; half afraid that if he doesn’t that he won’t be able to stop touching. They’d had so little time, the last time the Isles had been in Columbus, and Skype and Facetime and texting can only do so much; Nick just fucking misses him.  
  
“Free day tomorrow,” Brandon says, “No practice, so I figured I might stick around, catch the last flight back tomorrow, maybe take in a game.”  
  
“Well, we have morning skate early tomorrow,” Nick says, while his brain is still catching up, and then once it’s actually working again, “Wait, the last flight tomorrow?”  
  
“What, you thought I just came over to hit it and quit it?” Brandon jokes, and Nick jabs him in the ribs, says, “You so can’t pull that off, you’re not hip and cool.”  
  
“Fuck off, neither are you,” Brandon points out. “But yeah, I’ve got all night.” He tries to do something dirty with his eyebrows, and Nick just laughs, and pretends like it’s not turning him on anyway.  
  
“Which reminds me,” Brandon adds. “Speaking of not being young or hip or cool or whatever, happy birthday.” He’d messaged Nick that morning, which had been nice, but it’s even better to get him in person, hear him say it.  
  
“Thanks,” Nick says, and they just grin at each other for a long moment before Brandon says, “Oh my god, this is dumb, come here,” and instead of waiting just throws himself at Nick, getting his arms around his neck and pressing his mouth to Nick’s, kissing him hard.  
  
It’s a good kiss, and it goes on for a while. By the time they finally do break apart they’re both breathing hard, and Brandon is rubbing a hand over his chin ruefully, and saying, “You know, I’d kind of forgotten how the beard actually feels.”  
  
Nick tries not to look too smug, but now that Brandon’s mentioned it he’s pretty keen to get to the part of the evening that ends up in him leaving beard burn all over Brandon. He makes some pretty fucking great noises when Nick rubs his face over his inner thighs, that’s for sure.  
  
“Sucks about the game,” Nick says carefully. He’d watched, and he’d winced a few times in sympathy; the Islanders are having their own troubles getting the puck in the back of the net at the moment, and it had been discouragingly familiar to see the way the Jackets couldn’t seem to convert on any of their bounces. Although at least they’d had a good game in the first half of the back to back.  
  
Brandon makes a face, looks disgusted with himself, the air of frustration that’s underlaid almost every conversation touching on hockey that they’ve had this season coming to the forefront again. “We sucked,” he says, with a shrug, jaw set, and Nick feels guilty for even bringing it up, he knows it’s not exactly the greatest topic of conversation.  
  
“It wasn’t quite that bad,” he says.  
  
Not that he wants to get into an argument over this, and not that he’s going to admit that he’s being perfectly honest when he says that, especially—as will remain unspoken—considering the game in comparison to some of the Jackets’ efforts earlier this season. But they really had looked okay, and sooner or later the bounces will start going their way again.  
  
“I can’t fucking score,” Brandon says, sighing heavily in frustration.  
  
He lets himself drop down onto the couch, slouching, and almost sulking, and Nick’s a little annoyed even as he can sympathize. Luckily, that also gives him a pretty good opening to try and joke Brandon out of it again.  
  
“I wouldn’t say that,” Nick says, settling onto the couch beside Brandon, angled towards him. “I mean, you’re basically about to.” It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows suggestively at Brandon then, letting a hand rest on Brandon’s knee, sliding it slowly and meaningfully up his thigh.  
  
“You’re not funny,” Brandon says, biting his lip, but his eyes are smiling at least. “I guess that does help make up for it, though,” and he leans in to Nick again, stretches out to press their mouths together in a soft, slow kiss.  
  
Nick lets his hand keep moving up until his fingers are brushing lightly over Brandon’s dick, tracing the outline where he’s getting hard, sliding back to rub over the underside of his balls, a touch that Nick knows is equal parts frustrating and arousing. Nick’s pretty confident he’s managing just enough pressure that he can feel it, and the way Brandon moans—low and shocked and bitten off—is incredibly satisfying. So is the way that Brandon slouches back into the couch, his legs parting, making room for Nick’s hand to work. That leaves enough space between his knees for Nick to take a moment to think about it and then decide to just go for it.  
   
He rolls off the couch easily enough and drops to his knees, one hand braced on Brandon’s knee, the other still casually groping Brandon while he settles between his legs, looks up to meet Brandon’s gaze.  
  
“Oh shit, fuck,” Brandon says, and he has one hand in Nick’s hair and the other hooked around the back of his neck almost immediately, moving on pure instinct and not stopping to second-guess like he does so often. It’s pretty hot, really, and Nick feels his mouth water, swallows hard as Brandon tugs suggestively at his hair.  
  
“Wait,” Brandon says after a moment, and Nick straightens up. He’d been leaning in, about to press his mouth over the outside of Brandon’s pants. He wants to feel how turned on he is before he gets Brandon to strip off.  
  
“What do you want?” Nick asks. He wants to blow Brandon, he wants to get his mouth on his dick and let himself stop thinking about everything else, but if Brandon wants something else then Nick’s good with that, too.  
  
“I want that,” Brandon says, disarmingly honest as ever. “I just, it’s your birthday, I should be—I should do something for you.”  
  
“You are doing something for me,” Nick points out, because sometimes Brandon just doesn’t fucking think. “You’re letting me suck your dick. Or at least, I hope you are. I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want—”  
  
“Fuck,” Brandon says, a little wild-eyed. “I want that, I do, you have no idea, it just—it doesn’t feel special enough? I mean. Not that you don’t give great head, I. I mean. Uh. Nick?”  
  
Nick laughs at him, just a bit, not meanly, because Brandon’s digging himself into a hole there, and Nick isn’t going to rescue him immediately, even if he does know what Brandon means.  
  
“It’s plenty good for me,” he says, once Brandon’s been squirming long enough that Nick wants to put him out of his misery. “Just, you know. Save some for round two, that’s all I ask.”  
  
“I will definitely not fall asleep if you get me off before you come,” Brandon promises him, and he even covers Nick’s hand on his knee with his own, knocks their little fingers together. “Pinky swear and all.”  
  
“Fuck, you’re such a dork,” Nick says fondly, and Brandon lets go long enough to get his palm around the base of Nick’s skull, nails dragging lightly over his scalp before he says, “Takes one to know one.”  
  
Nick can’t argue with that, so instead he just reaches out to tug at Brandon’s zipper, unbuttoning and unzipping his suit pants, yanking at the waistband until Brandon belatedly buys a clue and arches his back, lifting his hips away from the couch. That gives Nick just enough time and space to drag his pants down over his thighs and past his knees, leaving him bare from the waist down, so that Nick has a perfect eye level view of the toned muscles of his abs, the way his quads are tense with expectation, the way his dick is flushed a deep pink, curving up against his belly, and fuck, how did Nick get this lucky?  
  
Brandon’s breathing hard before Nick even touches him again, which is flattering, or maybe it’s setting expectations too high; Nick doesn’t let himself dwell on that for more than a fraction of a second though, just gets his hand and then his mouth on him.  
  
There’s a calming familiarity to doing this, and maybe one day Nick will work out how something can be so fucking hot even when it’s the tenth, or thirtieth, or god only knows how many-th time you’ve done it. But whatever it is, he can’t deny how good it feels, or how easy it is to slip straight into a rhythm that works for both of them. He tightens his fingers around the base of Brandon’s dick, rubs his thumb over the vein and keeps his teeth covered, his mouth moving wet and easy. He’s a little sloppy with it, sucking on the head, running his tongue over and around the crown, before he pulls back for a moment to catch his breath, enjoying the way Brandon shivers as Nick exhales a bare inch away from his dick.  
  
“This good for you?” Nick asks, knowing he sounds a little rough, and Brandon’s hands tighten on his head before he manages to say, “Um, _yeah_.”  
  
“That’s good,” Nick says, and then he goes right back down, fast, pushing himself a little, till his lips meet his hand and Brandon’s talking all kinds of nonsense over his head. Nick pulls off again, gets another quick breath in and just focuses on taking Brandon apart.  
  
It doesn’t take all that much longer, really; Nick keeps his movements steady and consistent, keeps his mouth hot and wet on Brandon’s dick, and before he’s quite ready Brandon’s arching up, tense all over as he tries not to move too much, not to take Nick by surprise, and he gasps out that he’s close just in time for Nick to shift his weight and keep his balance while he swallows.  
  
“Fuck,” Brandon says, sounding wrung out, gone limp—all over, Nick notes with fond, private amusement—as he sinks back into the couch. “That was so, you’re so good at that.”  
  
Nick stretches, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and gets back to his feet. He’s not sore, exactly, but he maybe shouldn’t do this the night before a game. But fuck, whatever, it’s his birthday, he can make some slightly dubious choices for once.  
  
It’s nice to let himself crawl onto the couch again, though, plastering himself along Brandon’s side, just enjoying his warmth and solidity and the fact he’s there. Nick’s hard, sure, wants to get off sooner rather than later, but Brandon is so warm and tactile right after he comes, lazy and affectionate and good to cuddle up to. Nick doesn’t think anyone could blame him for wanting to just take a few minutes to lap that up.  
  
Brandon’s leaning heavily into Nick’s side, breathing starting to slow down again before he manages to say anything else, and even then it’s just a low, “Hey, come here,” mumbled against Nick’s throat.  
  
Brandon nuzzles into the curve of his shoulder for a long moment before straightening up again, curling his hand around the nape of his neck, his thumb stroking underneath Nick’s ear. He holds him steady like that for a couple of seconds, just looking at him before drawing his face closer for another kiss.  
  
They make out like that for a while, slow and steady and simple, and Nick lets his arousal build up slowly, turned on in a distant kind of way. He’s aware of the press of his dick against his zipper, ready for a hand or mouth or, fuck, anything, whatever kind of friction he can get, but it’s easy to keep putting that off, letting it draw out while Brandon nips at his lower lip and kisses him sweet and dirty.  
  
Nick definitely isn’t complaining about anything they’re doing, but Brandon muffles soft laughter against his lips after a while, and when Nick pulls away to ask, “What?” he realizes that he’s squirming a little, rocking back and forth on the couch, and his breath is starting to come way too fast.  
  
“You wanna move this to your room?” Brandon asks, and while Nick feels like he’s getting more scattered with every minute that passes, Brandon seems to be getting himself back under control twice as fast. If anything, he looks more awake and together and determined by then than he had even right after Nick had opened the door to see him.  
  
“Probably a good idea,” Nick admits.  
  
They’ve fucked around pretty much in every room in Nick’s apartment, which is fun except for when his parents visited and he’d had to very carefully not let himself remember any of that while he was giving them the tour, but his bedroom is—naturally—the most comfortable one. Nick’s made a lot of good memories in that bed, and he’s definitely on board to add another one.  
  
“I’m just gonna—” Brandon says, and he clambers off the couch and bends over to pick up the crumpled mass of his pants and underwear, standing there for a half-second before shrugging and leaning over to grab his bag from beside the couch, too. He should look stupid, standing there in a half-unbuttoned shirt with his dick out, but Nick can’t look at him without thinking how hot he is, without thinking about how he’s the one who gets to look at and touch Brandon.  
  
He’s so fiercely glad that they’ve got this, that they didn’t let this possibility go just because of time and distance and how much harder it was going to be. It’s heady and satisfying to watch Brandon move, so clearly comfortable in Nick’s space, and he knows he can be a little possessive sometimes, sure, but in practice all of that just adds up to Nick pressing a hand over his dick and reminding himself that the sooner he gets up and goes to his room, the sooner he can actually get off too.    
  
Brandon doesn’t actually go to Nick’s room right away like he’s expecting, though. Instead, he drops his backpack onto the couch and digs through it then and there. Nick raises an eyebrow, but decides not to ask. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out, though; Brandon shakes out his pants, shrugs and hangs them over the back of the couch—they might not get more wrinkled that way but they’re sure not going to get any better—and then pulls a pair of boxer shorts out of his bag. He steps into those and Nick makes a disappointed noise before he can stop himself; he was enjoying the view, okay. Brandon gives him a look that’s probably eighty percent laughing at him, but he also strips his shirt off then and stuffs that back into the bag.  
  
“That’s almost an acceptable level of nudity,” Nick says, compelled to comment, and Brandon shoots him a dirty look and says, “You’re still _fully dressed_.”  
  
“It’s my birthday,” Nick says, like that even makes sense.  
  
“Yeah, and you can unwrap me later,” Brandon mutters, and then when Nick can’t help himself and snorts at that fucking terrible joke he joins in, and giggles too; and if Nick’s being honest with himself that’s almost as good as the sex.  
  
He misses getting to see Brandon every day and he misses the simple ease of being able to reach out and touch him whenever he wants; they’ve had a whole summer together now and it’s spoiled both of them. Sometimes he misses the moments like this the most, when they’re being dumb and juvenile and just messing with each other the same way they’ve done ever since they first became friends.  
  
“C’mon,” Nick says eventually, suiting action to words, and struggling to his feet. It’s tempting to just stay right there—sink back into the couch, maybe get Brandon back on top of him again, because that’s always a good time—but the lure of his own bed is also pretty fucking strong.  
  
His knees feel fine as he walks over to his room, and that’s good, because it would have been seriously fucking embarrassing to have actually given himself some kind of injury just because he couldn’t wait two minutes to get Brandon off then and there.  
  
Brandon’s right behind him as Nick reaches out to flip the light switch by his door, and Nick’s definitely done this in the wrong order, because he could have got an extra ten seconds or so of ogling in if he’d followed Brandon rather than vice versa.  
  
It’s not the worst missed opportunity though, because apparently Brandon’s just as impatient now as he is; rather than waiting for Nick to start undressing normally, Brandon nudges him unsubtly up against the bed, and as Nick’s calves hit the box-spring Brandon’s already yanked his shirt up and off, is making equally quick work of his pants, blatantly groping him while he peels his shorts down and off, waiting for Nick to step out of them. Nick doesn’t even try to bite back the noise he makes as Brandon’s palm brushes over his dick, a clear promise for later. He’s mostly naked maybe a minute later, as Brandon gets his hands back on Nick’s hips and gives him a gentle shove back down onto the mattress.  
  
Nick holds up a hand and says, “One sec,” because he’s still got socks on, and he’s got some standards, okay. Brandon makes a production of rolling his eyes, but he also waits for Nick to scoot back into the middle of the sheets before climbing on top of him, so realistically, they’re both winning there.  
  
They make out for a little more, and Nick tries to let himself relax, just enjoy Brandon’s weight anchoring him there, but he also can’t quite restrain the way his hips move, the way he tries to shift and arch up. He had Brandon’s hand on his dick like two minutes ago, and he’s more than ready to revisit that idea.  
  
Brandon laughs breathlessly at him when Nick says as much, ducks his face back down to nuzzle at the side of Nick’s jaw, working his way down his neck. That’s good, sure; Brandon’s mouth is hot and he’s not stopping anywhere long enough to leave marks that Nick’ll have to worry about tomorrow, but it’s also frustrating, because he’s moving so slow, and Nick’s been waiting, he’s been so patient.  
  
“C’mon,” Nick complains, as Brandon wriggles on top of him, sliding down in tiny increments.  
  
He stops halfway down Nick’s chest to rub his stubbled cheek over his nipple, scraping his teeth over it when Nick makes a choking, half-vocalised sound at that.  
  
“That’s-okay, yeah, you can keep doing that,” Nick manages to say, and Brandon lifts his head up to grin at him, broad and open and happy, and goes right back to work with his lips and teeth.  
  
Brandon runs one hand down Nick’s side, rubs his thumb suggestively over the jut of his hip, feints in towards his dick, getting his hand caught between their bodies, his wrist digging in to Nick’s pelvis. It’s so close to what he wants, and yet not quite there, and Nick can’t help himself any more, tries to get a hand on Brandon’s ass to just hold him there so he can get some friction.  
  
It doesn’t entirely work; Nick gets a handful of Brandon’s ass that’s mostly fabric, and his dick is pressed up against his own belly, smearing wetly over his own skin and Brandon’s shorts, not nearly close enough.  
  
“Why are you still wearing _clothes_?” Nick manages to ask, knows his frustration is bleeding through into his voice.  
  
“Oh, right,” Brandon says, as if he’s somehow managed to forget, and Nick’s not buying that for a second, especially when he _rolls off_ Nick—who makes a protesting noise—and pushes his shorts down over his hips and thighs, kicking them off the end of the bed.  
  
Nick gets up on his elbows just enough to cop a good eyeful; it’s apparently been long enough now that Brandon’s recovered, his dick curving up, shiny and wet at the head.  Nick swallows hard, torn between wanting to get his mouth on Brandon again and wanting to get fucked; he knows how good it feels to have Brandon push inside him, and it’s been a while since they’ve done that. He’s tempted for a moment, but it’s more fun when they can really take their time, and he’ll have to be up early tomorrow, is already pushing his luck when it comes to the amount of sleep he’ll be getting. He’s got morning skate and a game, and he’d like to spend some more time with Brandon if he can in between those two, so he reluctantly shoves that thought away, somewhere he can bring it out later, the next time they have a good break, or more than half a day at best together.  
  
Brandon climbs back on top of Nick without waiting for an invitation, braces his hands on his biceps and slots his thigh between Nick’s, grinding down on top of him. It’s almost enough and not even close to it at the same time, and Nick just moans, lets his eyes close again.  
  
“Fuck,” he manages to say. “That’s so—Brandon, fuck, please.”  
  
Brandon stops moving then, and after a moment Nick opens his eyes to look up at him, opens his mouth to complain, or to beg, or just do something, _anything_. Instead, Brandon sits up, gets a knee on either side of Nick’s waist, and just reaches out, runs the ball of his thumb along Nick’s lower lip, a silent hint that makes heat flood through Nick’s body, licking hot and electric along his spine, and he mumbles, “Fuck,” again, the consonants sloppy around the weight of Brandon’s thumb, pressed down on his lips and tongue.  
  
“Later,” Brandon promises, and then finally, _finally_ he’s shuffling down Nick’s body, not teasing this time.  
  
He resettles between Nick’s legs, and Nick gets his feet flat on the mattress, knees up, thighs parted to let Brandon get as close as he can. Brandon reaches around Nick’s thigh and slings his forearm low over Nick’s stomach to brace himself, curls the fingers of his other hand around Nick’s erection, and then without any further fanfare he goes right down, sucking hard, tight and wet and hot everywhere he’s touching Nick.  
  
Nick makes a broken noise that he’s not entirely sure he could recreate any other time and tries not to bow up in response, but it’s been weeks since he’s had more than his own hand on his dick, and this is just so damn hot. He can feel the stretch in his quads as he tries to stay still at the same time as he tries to get his knees further apart, get Brandon closer.  
  
That tension is running all through his body as he gets closer and closer to coming, Brandon systematically taking him apart with the expertise of long practice. They hadn’t quite spent all of their summer in bed, but they’d spent enough of it, and it’s not like Nick takes a lot to get off the rest of the time anyway.  
  
Brandon hums encouragement and runs his fingertips over Nick’s balls, lets his thumb flirt with the skin behind them, sliding down to press dry at the crease of his ass, rubbing suggestively. Nick’s pretty sure they’ve got lube somewhere around, probably even within easy grabbing distance of the bed if Brandon wants to actually finger him, but before he can get his head together enough to point that out Brandon does something with his tongue that makes Nick bite his lip hard and has him coming before he can even really warn him, his whole body going white-hot with pleasure.  
  
“Wow, uh, sorry,” he manages to say when he thinks he’s got most of his body functioning normally again, his pulse still pounding too-fast in his ears as he comes back down. Brandon’s rubbing a streak of come off the side of his mouth, wiping his hand off on the sheet, and Nick really hadn’t meant to do that, but he’s not exactly complaining either, because it’s all kinds of hot, even if there’s also no way he’s getting it up again any time soon. Brandon doesn’t look the least bit unhappy either, grinning smugly as he shifts to curl up beside Nick, shoving him a little clumsily to move over so that neither of them is in the wet spot.  
  
“You’re fine,” Brandon says calmly, his breath warm on the back of Nick’s neck, and he wraps an arm around him too, patting his stomach for emphasis.  
  
“That was really good,” Nick mumbles, and clearly he’s been spending too much time with Brandon, because his eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds all of a sudden and he’s kind of desperate to let himself doze off already. He should really take care of Brandon first, though, he thinks.  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon says, and when he tugs Nick back against him more firmly he realizes that Brandon’s soft now too, which probably means he’d gotten off on sucking Nick off, maybe without even touching himself, and that’s hot enough that Nick really wishes he could appreciate it properly. Maybe after a nap.  
  
“Go to sleep,” Brandon says, his voice thick, and he’d played a whole game earlier that evening, Nick remembers; he had to have been tired to start with, and then he’d been so careful with Nick, so good for him.  
  
“So good,” he manages to say, and pats the back of Brandon’s hand, a little clumsy still, not entirely sure of himself again yet. He hasn’t come that hard in a while, and it’s making him slow as well as sleepy. But Brandon needs to know how happy he is, how good he is for Nick.  
  
“Happy birthday,” Brandon says again, and Nick doesn’t need to look at the clock by his bed to know that it’s probably close to midnight now if not after it, that it’s more than likely not even technically his birthday any more. But he still appreciates the sentiment. 


End file.
